


Months

by bughaw



Category: Banana Bus Squad, Gay baby gang, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV Second Person, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 05:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15211946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bughaw/pseuds/bughaw
Summary: It's scientifically proven that it takes three months for a person to move on.





	Months

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy another fic
> 
> as always, this hasnt been edited yet whoops

**-1**

Your parents kick you out a few weeks before college graduation. You would have chosen to leave on your own volition eventually, but like countless times before, your father decides to rob you of that choice himself.

 

You don’t feel remorse, or guilt, as you hold your father’s contempt-filled gaze before staring at your mother’s heartbroken look. In fact, you don’t feel anything at all as you nod and take your boyfriend’s hand in yours. Slowly, you two move the boxes that had been gracefully packed for you. (By your mother, no doubt.) You don’t dare look your parents in the eye as you take piece by piece of your life to transfer it elsewhere.

 

Your boyfriend drives off after making sure that all of the boxes have been loaded in the back of his car. As you look out the window, the scenery not at all registering in your brain, you take a deep breath.

 

Finally, after years of ignorance and stifling tension, you are free.

 

At a stoplight, your boyfriend reaches over and squeezes your hand. You manage to give him a small smile, the weight on your shoulder gradually receding. Your mother did not outright reject you when you had first come out, but her ignorance, and her indecision when it came to your father’s toxicity, hurt as much as your father’s actions did.

 

Now, thankfully, you were rid of them.

 

Almost on cue, as if to spite you, your phone rings. When you check the caller ID, you’re surprised to see your mother’s name. The urge to chuck your phone out of the window is tempting, but you determine that the best course of action at this point is to just ignore the call before blocking her number.

 

“It’ll be fine,” Lucas, your boyfriend, tells you when you arrive at his condo. You know that already, of course, because being disowned is far better than enduring the endless scrutiny from your father. Still, you smile and nod at him.

 

Monetary support, the only thing you’ve received from your parents post-coming out, is fickle. Something that is easily replaced. Looking back at it now, you wonder if financial stability was worth the years of toxicity you’ve endured in that household.

 

As you unbox your old life and merge it with your new one, you figure that it’s too late to lament things that can’t be changed. You’ve left it behind, it’s best if you don’t think too much about it.

  
  


**0**

Lucas leaves you on your anniversary. He could have broken things off any other day before that but he chooses to do so on the third year mark of the day you two got together. He gives a bullshit excuse about finding himself, about how it’s not you it’s him, but you know for a fact that that isn’t the case.

 

This wasn’t just an out of the blue decision. Things had already began going awry before that day of your anniversary.

 

Problems have already piled up during the days leading up to this. Problems about people thinking that they had the right to judge you two because you loved a person of the same gender. There was also one about his job, and the loss of a potential promotion because someone spotted you with him. Another was with his parents and friends as they kept on trying to make him leave. One was with you and the fact that you don’t understand what he’s going through.

 

You had both been snappy, had less patience with each other. He would go out more with his friends, and even did so on your movie nights. There was barely any affection between you two. The condo became less of a safe haven and more of a dueling ground, with both of you engaging in passive-aggressive fights more than anything else.

 

Your passion for each other had been mismanaged, and added fuel to the fire.

 

So he ended things.

 

He broke it off with you because the scrutiny from being with another guy had been too much to handle. It was out of his control, you both knew that, but it didn’t change the fact that it too much stress and pressure on him.

 

You tried not to fault him for it. Instead, you blamed other people as you helped him pack his bags. You blamed his friends, his parents, for telling him that what he had with you was just a passing phase; that there were better things out there for him other you. You blamed the company he worked for and his bosses for being so closed-minded. You blamed society. You blamed your own parents for teaching you to be so defeatist. You blame yourself for giving up so quickly.

 

But you never blamed him. Hell, if it had been sixteen year old you in his position, you would have done the same thing. So you let him go with a resignation more appropriate for someone more than twice your age. You didn’t raise your voice as you hurriedly split things with him. You didn’t once give in to the urge to scream your frustrations out. You listened silently as he explained that this was good for you. (That this was better for him.)

 

You accept the final hug he gives you, and as you watch him drive away, you hope that he was right.

 

Still, it’s like a slap to the face. You gave things up for him and yet he couldn’t do the same.

 

There were numerous things you could have done to make him stay. You could have grovelled at his feet, tried to compromise with him, and maybe even talk things out--but at that point, you were just tired.

 

You two had just been hanging on to a thread, and your third year anniversary only reminded you that a thin, flimsy thread isn’t enough to keep two people together.

 

And as you lie on your bed now, face devoid of any emotion and eyes almost as dry as a desert, you convince yourself that what happened is for the best. You were tired anyway. It had been tiring, trying to keep up with him, and his desires, and the expectations he kept up with. It  _ is _ true that there are better things for him, a better person, one that wouldn’t keep him from being truly happy. There is someone out there for him that he wouldn’t mind being seen with, wouldn’t mind bringing home to his parents.

 

(A small part of you still wishes it had been you.)

  
  


**1**

You’re too busy to notice his absence for the first month. There are trips to go on, videos to edit, and deadlines to reach. Working is a mechanical instinct for you. There isn’t enough time to breathe, much less mourn the relationship you’ve lost.

 

You barely spend any time at the condo.

 

At the end of the fourth week, when you’ve finally caught up with everything, is when you notice it. There’s no one waiting for you at home, no one to tell the good news about the Euro-trip planned. No one to bring with on said trip.

 

The wretchedness is so palpable you can almost taste it on your tongue.

 

During a moment of weakness, you dye your hair brown. (You try to convince yourself it's not because you can't stand the sight of a color so close to his.)

  
  


**1.5**

You’re out buying new clothes when you spot him. His white hair is a dead giveaway to his identity.

 

It’s almost instinctive when you move to approach. Luckily, your closest friend, Cam, is there to hold you back just in time for you to notice the woman stepping up beside him. She’s holding up a dress shirt, and he seems to be commenting on it. You don’t recognize her. You don’t know who she is and who she is to him. (You have a small inkling when you notice him reach for her hand after.)

 

Cam tugs on your arm. You let him drag you away.

  
  


**2**

You don’t wallow. Your friends are just liars who insist that you do.

 

The break up doesn’t matter. You’re okay.

 

A person who is wallowing in their misery stays in bed, and that’s the opposite of what you are normally doing. In fact, this is the most productive you have ever been. Your condo has become more of a bedspace instead of an actual home at this point. Time there is usually spent sleeping or washing up, before you go on your merry way to use up your newfound, almost excessive energy.

 

People have always considered you a homebody, but you prove them wrong as you spend post-Lucas going out a lot. You don’t skip work even at times when your health is at a decline, and you never pass up an invitation to go out. “I’m back,” you tell your friends, and they reluctantly cheer with you.

 

A month or two has passed and you’re fine.

 

(You have spent those weeks living in denial.)

 

His birthday comes and you prepare for it without meaning to. There’s cake, and flowers, and gifts but no birthday boy to spend it with. The eve of his birthday, you find yourself laughing bitterly in your condo before you go out with your friends and drink yourself stupid.

 

The realization of denial comes after Cam brings you out of your drunken stupor. “Don’t live like this,” he tells you, as if he has any idea. (He does, with Toby once upon a time. You know this.)

 

_ I’m okay _ , the words are on your tongue but you don’t say it. You’re not okay. You miss him. Maybe it’s okay to accept that.

 

New York, a city you never wanted to live in, has become a serious problem. It’s become more unbearable. It’s filled with places that you used to go to with him, and every corner you turn there’s a reminder of your failed relationship. You tell Cam this, and he gives you a sympathetic smile before hauling you off the floor.

 

The stink you’re emitting must have been overwhelming, and you’re thankful he doesn’t mention it. Cam leaves you to clean up the grime you’ve accumulated after a night of bar hopping, telling you that he’ll get started on fixing the mess that is your condo.

 

One would think that showering is a simple task, but  _ he  _ had left some toiletries around, and it’s instinctive that you reach for his shampoo.

 

The scent of cedarwood used to be comforting, now it just leaves you feeling ill.

 

You come out of the bathroom not feeling any better. In the short amount of time you’ve spent in it, Cam has already made a dent on the clutter around the unit. “I’m getting rid of things that you don’t need,” he tells you. ( _ I’m getting rid of the things that used to belong to him.) _

 

The temptation to collapse on your bed and let him do the work is strong, but you don’t fall for it. That’s something to be done if you want to incur Cam’s wrath, and you don’t have the energy to deal with that right now.

 

So you help out by starting with the kitchen where dishes have already piled up in the sink. Your nose wrinkles at the stench, and with great disdain you start washing the dishes. It’s a miracle that there are no rodents in your condo.

 

You know that if you look around you’ll see how much of a pigsty your place has become.  _ Don’t live like this _ , Cam had said. Somehow, you understand what he was saying.

 

After the dishes have been washed and put away, you join Cam in clearing up the rest of the mess. From time to time, you notice some missed items of  _ his,  _ usually games, and so it seems does Cam, because the box he has to the side slowly fills up.

 

At one point, he also tosses the rings that Lucas had bought for you throughout the years.

 

“I might need those,” you say while eyeing the box.

 

Cam only smiles and goes about cleaning.

 

You don’t stop him when he goes to put another game in the box.

  
  


**2.5**

 

Things get better, even though it’s slow. The apartment has become more bearable as time passes, but you know that it’s due time that you move out. Just like your relationship, this was a place that’s meant to be left in the past. 

 

You bleach your hair again. The sight of it in the mirror doesn't make your stomach turn anymore.

 

**3**

Moving out should have been your first decision post-break up but you don’t do it until the third month he’s gone. Your belongings are packed into boxes, just like a few years back when you left your first home.

 

This time, you leave alone.

 

The new condo is smaller than your previous one, a facet Cam insisted on when he was helping you search for a new one. “You don’t need living space for two people,” he told you and you found yourself not disagreeing with him. He was right, anyway. There’s no one to share the space with anymore.

 

While bare, the condo is a new start. To your satisfaction, it doesn’t change after you’ve unpacked your belongings. There are no traces of him to be found. All the pictures have been hidden, mementos given away.

 

As always, Cam was right. You wonder why you’ve never dated him before you recall that he’s not your type. At least, not anymore. Oh well. It’s not like you can handle a man of his caliber to begin with.

 

As you collapse on your newly acquired sofa, a new message pings on your phone. You don’t bother checking who it is before opening it. Maybe you should have checked, so the name doesn’t jar you as much as it had. Still, your fingers move without meaning to, already forming a reply before you realize what you’re doing.

 

You stop. You breathe.

 

_ I heard you moved out, how’s the new place? _

 

You shouldn’t block him. You reply.

 

_ It’s great. You should come around some time. _

  
  


**4**

Lucas arrives ahead of the time you set, like he’s wont to do. What’s surprising is the box he hands you with a smile. “A housewarming gift,” he explains when you give him an inquisitive look.

 

He looks good, better, and you’re reminded of what he said when he was packing up. That this was good for you. (Better for him.)

 

You step aside to let him in, offering him refreshments as you do so. A small part of you vaguely wonders about the woman you had seen him with months prior, but his quiet chattering muddles that thought immediately.

 

“I was surprised,” he says while looking around your new home. He’s leaving his trace in what is supposed to be your new space from him. There’s a pang in your chest but it’s so slight you barely even notice it.

 

“Surprised?” What was so surprising?

 

“That you invited me in the first place.”

 

“Until now, you can’t explain why you even did it. You don’t tell him.)

 

Instead of gracing him with a reply, you smile, and looking at home doesn’t bring the same rush it used to. It doesn’t make your chest tighten in that familiar bittersweet way. You wonder why that is, why you find yourself breathing easily despite his presence.

 

( _ Don’t question blessings _ , your mother used to say.)

 

You don’t question it.

 

“I figured it as okay to do so,” you tell him. “We’re friends, right?” The words leave your lips without you meaning them to. But you aren’t afraid of his reply. He came, isn’t that enough?

 

“Yeah. We’re friends.”

 

You smile again, this time he smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> It's different from how typical fanfiction narration goes but I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> if you scream about dumb yters like I do hmu on [twitter](http://twitter.com/bloooie)


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